


Thanks for the Memories

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-22
Updated: 2008-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghosts in machines are people, too. (prompt: 'text', from spittingink@LJ).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanks for the Memories

The teenaged girl stood within the massive colonnade of the large white building, dark eyes fixed on the silvery sign: "WELCOME VISITORS TO THE OLD CHICAGO MEMORY ARCHIVES". Her mouth curled in a serene smirk and she pushed the large metallic door open; its size belied the ease of movement and soon she was within a soaring space, colossal flying buttresses arching to the finely decorated ceiling, high overhead. A pale light was filtering in through the tall, arched windows and the girl removed her oxygen filter-mask and deactivated the UV-filter over her skin.

All along the walls, flat screens lay dormant, waiting patiently for a user. People at other terminals glanced up at her entry, and then returned to what they had been doing before. She bit her lip, and approached the closest one, which flickered to life as she advanced, displaying a white word on a dark blue background.

 _QUERY?_

She shook her head with a small smile and reached for the translucent keyboard right below the recessed screen. She typed in a phrase; the screen went blank and a hologram of some generic woman materialised beside her, a foreboding expression on the mask-like face.

"Visitor, the neuron archives you request have no visual or audio output. Do you still request access?" The avatar's voice was censoring, as if it expected the girl to say no.

"Yeah, I'd like access," the girl said mockingly; the avatar glared in pixelated annoyance.

"Very well. The archive you request _does_ have voice recognition, you may choose to talk or input on the keyboard."

The avatar blinked out of existence and the girl waited patiently.

Suddenly, white text filled the screen.

 _My name is Patrick Stump. Who is this?_

"Hi," the girl said with a shyness that seemed uncharacteristic on her. "My name is Tina."

 _Hello, Tina. You're the first person to visit me in a long time. That probably means the world hasn't ended, right?_

Tina giggled. "Yeah, the world is still spinning, unfortunately or fortunately. Depends on how you look at it." She grew a little serious. "Do you... do you remember how you got here?"

 _Yes._

Tina waited, but no more text seemed to be forthcoming. She opened her mouth to speak, but words flooded the screen again.

 _When I was dying, I requested that a copy of my neuron patterns be placed in the memory archives. Basically, I'm a ghost in a machine._

Tina nodded. If the neuron copy remembered its source, then it hadn't deteriorated. That was excellent. "Ghost in a machine, that's a cool phrase."

 _You should really watch Ghost in the Shell, nice movie. Do you play any instruments?_

"Um, yeah! The motion-guitar, the syncopate and the violin. My dad made me learn that one."

 _Sweet. One day you need to come and play the motion-guitar for me, that would be cool_. Tina couldn't really tell from the solid shape of the letters on the screen, but she thought it sounded a little bit wistful.

"I will. Are you bored in the archives? It _must_ be a little boring."

 _Oh, well. It's different in here. Time doesn't have the same feeling it does out there. It flows differently. And I've learned a lot of useless shit, so there you have it. Maybe when your kid comes along, I'll be some kind of guru, ready to impart knowledge._

Tina laughed and covered her mouth with a gloved hand as the other users looked in her direction. Then she sobered; she had come here on a particular mission.

"Patrick, you remember Pete, right?"

There was a very long pause. Tina placed a hand on the screen, afraid she had sent the neuron file off to sulk in some dark corner in the archives.

 _Pete was my best friend. How could I forget?_

"He _is_ your best friend, Patrick. Pete never forgot about you."

 _Obviously. He came to visit me so very often in here._ The text was angry; it shivered on the screen, spiking in the serifs and lines. _You don't know half the story, kiddo. He had a life to lead after I left._

"No," she countered softly. "He stopped living when you did."

She dug into her pocket and took out a flat disc, rectangular and long. "My name isn't Tina, it's just my nickname," she admitted. "It's Patricia Martina Wentz. My great-grandfather named me after the person who meant the most to him in the world." She held up the disc. "And he asked me to do a favour for him... if you'd have no objection to have him bugging you for a very long time. His words, not mine." She grinned tentatively, chipmunk cheeks pulling back from a big toothed smile.

 _I... I guess I could_. The shape of the text was now hopeful. _I could. I could_.

"Old Chicago Archive," Tina intoned, "'I'm requesting permission to upload."

"Please insert neuron pattern copy," the avatar ordered as it shimmered into view again. "Scanning," it informed her after she slid it into a narrow slot in the wall. "Neuron pattern accepted. Neuron pattern stored. Thank you for your support of the Old Chicago Memory Archive. Our minds power the world."

Tina rolled her eyes at the corny motto and stared at the screen. There was nothing for another long period and she sighed, thinking that her session was over. Before she turned away, words flitted across the screen again. These were different, a completely distinct shape from the ones before.

 _Thanks, baby,_ they glowed, and Patrick's particular-shaped words echoed these sentiments.

 _Thanks, Tina. So much._

Tina nodded and activated her UV-filter, smiling behind her oxygen mask as she headed home.

 _fin_


End file.
